


It Was Home

by Ferus_Domina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angry Ranting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Naked Ranting, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferus_Domina/pseuds/Ferus_Domina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan had thought fixing the hole in the sky would be the hard part. But some rifts are more difficult to heal than others, and stray words send him looking for a sympathetic ear, and a bit of exercise. Iron Bull is happy to help with both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after "Demands of the Qun" but before you complete "Tough Love"

Some claimed that the Inquisitor, the blessed Herald of Andraste was never angry. Oh, filled with righteousness as he battled the hordes of demons perhaps, his face set in grim resolve, yes certainly. But never _angry_. The elf seemed so friendly and supportive, completely and utterly without malice toward anyone that it was quite likely a fair number of people actually believed that particular bit of hogwash.

The Iron Bull had known better from the start. He'd seen the anger burning, carefully stoked behind bright blue eyes, only revealed when absolutely necessary. He was surprised the pretty elf hadn't bitten his tongue in half. Or ripped out someone's throat with those daggers of his. There was a rage that burned inside him, one that for whatever reason, he never unleashed until they were out in the field.

Of course, anyone who saw the Inquisitor now would realize that they had been mistaken about the Dalish never getting angry. Either that or they might think him possessed by a rage demon. His eyes all but spit flames as he stalked through the Herald's Rest, nearly making a beeline for Bull, not even greeting Krem where he sat perched on the back of his chair as he usually did. Bull didn't even have a chance to say hello. “We have to talk. Now.” The words were all but ground out between his teeth, and the Iron Bull wondered if they burnt his lips as they came out. He nodded.

“Alright, Boss.” More than seven and a half feet of Qunari unfolded from his usual chair as Mahanon Lavellan turned on his heel, knowing that Bull would follow him. Already the Qunari was figuring out just what the Dalish would need. And wondering what exactly had gotten him so angry. He'd seen something like that anger in the Emerald Graves around... ah. 

The Iron Bull had longer legs than Mahanon, but the Dalish still got to his quarters first. He hadn't thought this encounter would go like the others, so it didn't surprise him to find the elf kissing him forcefully the moment he'd made it up the last flight of stairs. He was more surprised that he'd made it that far. He let Mahanon have control of the kiss, feeling the slight nudge the split second before he started backing them toward the bed. He knew his lover's kisses, and this was not his usual, this was rage and anger, pointed at the one person he knew beyond a doubt could handle it. It made Bull's heart thrill and his cock press against his trousers as he worked on getting rid of those ridiculously tight pants the Inquisitor wore. They all but peeled off as Mahanon finished pulling them down with a growl of frustration and a trick with his bare feet that Bull still wasn't sure exactly how he managed. He was usually distracted when the elf did it anyway. Next time, he always promised himself, he would pay attention.

The bed creaked as he dropped on it and Mahanon climbed into his lap, thin limbs straddling him, already grinding against him urgently. “No silks” he gasped, remembering at what he likely thought was the last moment before Bull pulled the red strips from the drawer of his nightstand. But the Iron Bull just shook his head “Not today. That's not what you need, is it?” It was a statement posed as a question, and he didn't need to see the shake of Mahanon's head to know the answer. Large hands pushed bright red strands from blue eyes, gazing into them, seeing anger and fury and so, so much pain. They would get to the bottom of that later. For now, Mahanon had other things to think about as his movements grew more urgent in the Iron Bull's lap.

It was two full hours before the Dalish had worn himself out, and Bull hadn't even tried to draw it out as he did sometimes. He panted, his hair soaked with sweat as he lay on sheets that would have to be neater to be described as “rumpled.” Bull was reasonably sure they'd torn a hole in them. Again. It was a good thing Skyhold had a good laundry staff. They had to. Bull sat next to him, leaned against the headboard to play with his long hair, and he made no move to leave or get dressed. He just waited for whatever poison was sitting in the Inquisitor to bubble to the surface.

“You're not going to ask me what's the matter?” Mahanon's voice was quiet, probably because he was tired, but there was also a wariness to it. “You're not one bit curious what brought this on.” He looked up at him through his lashes, the fires were banked again, but not as thoroughly, ready to blaze back to life with just a bit of fuel.

Bull shrugged “I figured you would tell me when you were ready. _If_ you were ready” he corrected, because while he had been reasonably sure that Mahanon would tell him what was wrong, he could have been wrong. He had been before.

Mahanon closed his eyes. It would be easy not to say anything, to just let those fingers in his hair lull him to sleep. But he found himself saying it anyway. “I was in the courtyard and... one of the refugees, or followers, the one from outside Redcliffe... was talking to one of the dwarves... I think his name is Mingrin, something like that. But he said... the human did... that you couldn't trust elves. All that... dung about them, _us_ stealing babies and practicing blood magic and...” he paused, and Bull can hear the rage building in his voice, it's still quiet, still banked, and if his life hadn't depended on hearing such things for years he might not have heard it at all. “I hoped, that when I agreed to all this.” He waved a hand, somehow encompassing not only the room and it's occupants, but Skyhold and even the Inquisition and it's multitude of allies “that I would change human's minds about my people. That, if a Dalish could be Andraste's Chosen, then maybe we weren't the blood drinking, baby stealing savages they all thought we were.” He did move then, rolling out of bed to pace across the room. He was still, to the Iron Bull's amusement, gloriously naked, but he didn't seem to care, and Bull wasn't about to remind him about the existence of pants. “But no, I'm an exception, I'm just me, so they can keep on thinking that every other elf, everyone in my clan, are horrible soulless monsters who deserve to be hounded to the ends of Thedas for every imagined slight.” He dropped onto the couch with a growl of frustration. 

The Iron Bull was silent for a long moment, because Mahanon might still say more, and this also wasn't the sort of thing that you brushed off with a flippant sort of comment. Besides, after a moment he had a slightly better idea. He got up from the bed and headed to the desk, where he knew that Mahanon kept a bottle of some sort of liquor. The elf sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes as the drawer was opened and the bottle procured. “Do I need to ask how you knew that was there?”

Bull chuckled “You had the smell of liquor on your breath last time and I heard the sound of a squeaky drawer shutting when I came up the stairs. You must drink it straight from the bottle though. No cups. Do you mind?” He waited for the reply before he pulled the cork out, sitting carefully on the couch. They'd cracked the frame once, and he didn't want a repeat.

“I'll warn you though, this is for sipping, not chugging. You have to savor it.” He snagged the bottle from Bull and took a sip, licking his lips as he leaned against the large Qunari. 

“A bottle of Mackay's Single Malt? Please, I know I drink the piss they sell at the tavern, but I do know good liquor when I see it.” Bull's sip was slightly larger than Mahanon's, but well he did have a larger mouth. “That's good stuff.” They sat in silence for awhile before Mahanon spoke again.

“Before I left for the Conclave, our Keeper all but drilled into my head how important it was that I behave properly. That I not be seen as anything less than kind, helpful, understanding, friendly. How important it was that I do this, because otherwise no one would listen. That I had to be perfect to have a chance of being heard. I'm still not sure if she sent me because of some sort of annoyance with me, because... being kind and polite really is not my nature at all.” He took the bottle back with a sigh. “Some days I want to shake every shem in this castle. And Solas. And then... I look at them and I see friends. People who believe in me, who have hope because I exist, elf or not. And then... I wander through the courtyard, going about my business and I hear a comment about my ears, or about us, or just... something about elvhen that is wrong, and I feel this anger in my chest that I can't let out, because then I'm just being the savage, barbarian elf they all thought I was from the beginning. And I can't have that.” Another small swallow before he ran a long fingered hand through his hair. “It's exhausting.”

“People can't change their minds overnight you know. Or hell, sometimes ever.” Bull sighed “The way I figure, you can be the nicest, the best, the most helpful person ever. And there's still gonna be those whispers, there's always gonna be assholes. I mean, look at me.” He spread his arms, bottle sloshing slightly in his hand. “Damn near one of the friendliest guys you'll ever meet, and they might change their minds about me after a drink or two. But all the Qunari? Not a chance.”

“Yes, well, it's not as though you were 'brought out of the Veil by Andraste herself' or some other nonsense. And are you actually trying to change anyone's opinion on Qunari?”

Bull chuckled "Fair enough." Because no, he hadn't really tried to change anyone's mind. Why bother? Ferelden and Orlais hated the Qunari, and Bull didn't really blame them. 

He relinquished his grip on the bottle when Mahanon reached up, snagging the bottle from Bull with deft fingers. “I miss the woods, everything was so much simpler without shem around to muck it up.” But if he went down that path he was going to get maudlin, and he didn't want to spend whatever free time he had crying into the Iron Bull's lap. There were much better uses for that particular lap, even if he wasn't doing them right now. “My _point_ remain, and it is that no one gives a heap of halla shit whether the Dalish ever have a home, or if they're hunted to the ends of Thedas, or... anything. It feels like trying to move the aravels when they're stuck in the mud. A lot of noise, but nothing getting done. And I'm so bleeding busy trying to keep all of these idiots from tearing the world apart that it feels as though I can't do a damned thing.” He sat up, moving so he was sitting in Bull's lap now, leaning against his broad chest. Large arms wrapped around him, and he sighed, thinking of the dragon tooth hidden in the bottom of his pack. At least _that_ was going right. “I'm just... so tired of it all.”

“Hey.” Iron Bull smiled down at him, gently cupping his chin to tip his head back, admiring the line of his jaw and throat, the bob of his throat working. “You'll come up with something. And if you don't, you've got a pretty good crew here to help. Rest your mind, now.” He kissed Mahanon then, his free hand wrapping around his cock with a delicacy that had surprised the elf at first, but now he relished it, his hips moving with the abominably slow rhythm the Qunari was setting. He groaned into the kiss, his arms wrapping around Bull's neck as the large man stood, carrying him back to the bed. He hadn't said anything, after all, about his body getting any rest. Not tonight at least.


End file.
